Slytherella
by Corey B. Carter
Summary: Some fairy tales start with Grand Balls and Fair Maidens or Handsome Princes, with Fairy Godmothers that grant wishes, or even with Evil Witches that would curse one of the protagonists. In the fine tradition that many a fairytale has established, this one also begins with a Ball, where the Not-Quite-a-Maiden and the Not-Quite-a-Prince first cross paths… REPOST... I GAIN NOTHING...


Slytherella(or a Gay Fairytale about Cinder Boy, a Prince Decidedly Uncharming and no Glass Slippers Whatsoever)

Some fairy tales start with Grand Balls and Fair Maidens or Handsome Princes, with Fairy Godmothers that grant wishes, or even with Evil Witches that would curse one of the protagonists. In the fine tradition that many a fairytale has established, this one also begins with a Ball, where the Not-Quite-a-Maiden and the Not-Quite-a-Prince first cross paths…

"We're going, Malfoy."

Draco heard his colleagues hurrying to leave the laboratory to prepare for the Ministry Spring Team Building Gala. It was a relatively new event that tried to bridge the Muggleborns' culture with the purebloods' and improve rapport between departments. To attract the purebloods among them it was held in all the traditions of the Spring-season balls that purebloods still respected. For the third consecutive year, Draco was the only one to stay behind and work, while all the others went off and had fun.

He wished he could just walk out and never come back, but he couldn't. He hated his life these days, and sometimes almost wished things were as he remembered them in his childhood, when his name commanded respect.Almost. That last year before Voldemort fell done with made him see the world with different eyes, and his family's reputation had been unalterably tarnished. So, he spent his days in the lab and tolerated his colleagues, who would leave him to clean the dirty cauldrons and steal his ideas if he made the mistake of leaving his log out for them to find again.

He stared at the delicate opalescent fumes that danced over the cauldron. The potion would take at least another two hours. And it could still turn out to be a failure, just like the previous thirty-seven versions he had attempted before. With a critical eye he carefully examined the colour. It was absolutely transparent, and he could see the texture of the fine glaze that covered the metal, preventing it from reacting with the brews. Bubbles rose slowly to the surface and broke.

Draco started to prepare the ingredients that would need to be added soon.

Just as his wand began vibrating in indication of the correct moment to add the ingredients, there was a knock on the door and it started to open. Draco didn't bother to look as he lowered the fire under the cauldron and counted the seconds between adding each identical granule of bat excrement. He watched as the granules dissolved, leaving yellow trails in their wake. Once the overall colour of the potion achieved the turquoise hew he wanted, he stopped. He considered using a glass stirring rod to mix the brew but then decided against it. It would be more potent if he let it mix by itself, even if it would take longer.

Finally done with this stage, Draco turned around to see who would be encroaching on his time now. Granger – well, technically Weasley, but really the number of people with that surname was absurd, so Granger it was – was sitting in a chair, reading.

"Can I help you, Granger?" He drawled. She was among the few he could drop his humble façade with. All she cared about were results. And she was among the few who let the past be just that – past.

She closed her file and slipped it in her bag.

"It has come to my attention that this is the third year you've been left by your colleagues while they go to the Ministry Gala. I won't tolerate such unequal treatment."

Granger was the Head of the new Ministry Department for Fair and Equal Treatment of All Wizards and Sentient Magical Beings and she took her job very seriously. Her campaign for house-elf rights had almost led to major disaster. Using their newly acquired rights, the house-elves had filed a collective complaint against her and her department's politics, alleging they disregarded their species code and manner of existence. Only that had finally made her realise that, in fact, very few house-elves wanted freedom, payment or anything else her progressive Muggleborn mind could come up with. So she had moved on to Centaurs, Werewolves, Vampires, or whatever else she rooted for these days, which somehow seemed to include him all of a sudden.

There had been a time when Draco would have cared about her crusade, and taken advantage of her concern. Lately though he was too tired to care. He had far too many other problems to be bothered with Granger's obsessions with equality and fairness. He was all too aware that life, after all, was not fair. He had seen too much evidence to doubt it.

"I do have some delicate work that requires my attention, Granger," he carefully replied.

"There are stasis charms that can be applied when the brew is at a certain stage, Malfoy. I am well aware of that." Granger was now coming towards him, her face a mask of stubborn determination. It reminded Draco of times long past, of school and the many times that same expression had made him want to hex her. "Judging by the state of your potion, I'd dare guess the current stage is as such." She dug in her bag and took out an invitation. Draco didn't point out that, just like every other Ministry employee, he had received one already. He also didn't mention that it had suspiciously disappeared the very same day it had come. "I expect you there at 9 p.m., Malfoy. The theme is Masquerade."

She placed the invitation on the table, away from his tools and ingredients and left. Draco stared at it and wondered if he should bother going on the one night he could sleep.

He stared at the gates of the Greengrass' Mansion, the site for the Masquerade event. As the code required of any self-respecting pureblood, he was fashionably late. He might not have been the man he once was; he might have lost his social standing, money, home and many other things that were of much more importance, but for all that he lacked in wealth, he made up for in manners.

The Ministry had adopted a new policy which aimed to integrate the best of both the Muggle and the pureblood cultures while staying respectful to both. By doing this, it was striving to create a world that would never again split on the issue of blood-purity. The Spring Gala combined the Muggles' ideas of creating a more effective team by establishing more informal relationship between co-workers and the Spring balls that the old pureblood families held to introduce their progeny into society. Draco doubted that even Granger with her bookwormish tendencies knew the actual origin of the Spring/Autumn seasons' balls. It was known among the purebloods, but it was considered a very impolite thing to actually discuss publicly.

Draco, of course, knew it was because it coincided with the heat of most Magical Creatures. It was not considered dirtying one's blood to choose to breed with a Creature; many families introduced any desired trait that might improve the chances of their survival or status in that manner. The Malfoys in particular bred for physical beauty and hunting instincts, which was why there were a few Veela and Vampires dotting the family tree. It explained the abundance of pale willowy blonds in their family. Now, no one in the Malfoy family possessed any of the less-desired traits such as heat, blood-thirst, sought-after mates, or the horrible screech that the Veela produced when angry or threatened – for which Draco was eternally grateful, he had enough trouble as it was, without topping them off with hormonal rages.

Draco strode in with his usual swagger and handed the invitation to the butler. As was custom, he expected to be announced, but furrowed his brow when he was handed a mask instead.

"Sir, as the theme is Masquerade, everyone will be wearing a wizarding Mask till midnight. At the stroke of the hour, it will fall off by itself," informed the butler. "Please do not try to remove it before then. Should you have the desire to leave before that time, it will come off once you leave the grounds of the Mansion. Enjoy your evening, sir."

Draco only nodded and eased the mask onto his face. He instantly felt it melding with his skin until it became part of it as if he had nothing on. To someone unaffected by the mask's magic he'd seem no different, but the mask affected him and his senses. He was almost glad he had come. It had been too long since he had been able to interact with others without feeling their eyes on his hair and features, without seeing the hatred and accusations on their faces. That was part of the reason why he rarely went out, even when he had some time to spare.

Were it not for the specific Confundus Charm on the mask, he would have been shunned and probably humiliated just for fun. Luckily, the Charm ensured that those wearing such a mask would never be able to identify anyone while it was on and, once it fell, they'd only have memories of the events, but not the people playing parts, not unless said people admitted themselves. Yes, Masquerades had had their place back in time, when mating rituals needed to take part regardless of possible family feuds or personal hatred and it had been most convenient, but Draco didn't see the use of them now. Still, he could appreciate the reprieve it granted him. He couldn't understand, though, how exactly not knowing your colleagues while interacting with them, could improve team work… unless gang-bangs counted.

He could see that there were people that would probably engage in something of the kind, but he wasn't interested. His libido was practically non-existent nowadays. Too much work and not enough sleep had led not only to purplish-grey bruises under his eyes that no longer responded to cosmetic charms, but also to diminished sexual interest.

Seeing the interactions of people around him – the flirting, the light touches, the politely amused laughter – he realised how long it had been since he was last with somebody. He tried to convince himself that he certainly didn't want sticky, sweaty hands on his body, but truth be told, he craved to feel someone's touch, even if it came in this mysterious form. He felt his chin dropping and his feet itching to take him in direction of the groups of people, seeking companionship. He hated himself when he felt like that and he hated to feel depressed. Anger replaced his depression and suddenly he wanted to escape from this place.

He swiftly left the ballroom and, navigating between a few snogging couples in the corridors, he headed for the library remembering distantly that it was on the upper floor. Hopefully it would be open to guests.

Approaching the library, Draco was prepared for anything; from finding an overenthusiastic pair humping on the desk, to it being warded or deserted. He was surprised to encounter there, however, a man sitting behind the desk, enraptured by a book he easily recognised. He immediately knew two things: one, the stranger was probably seeing the book for the first time. The expression of incredulity and curiosity betrayed him. And two, this man was interested in men.

The book was a collection of old wizarding homoerotic art from the East. Draco knew it quite well, and had once owned not only that volume, but a few more. This one in particular was full of fine art depicting same-sex lovers in intimate poses so acrobatic, one could only wonder what spells allowed the human body to twist in such ways.

The memory awakened a part of him and he felt a bit more alive. With a smirk playing on his lips, he dragged his critical gaze over every inch of this intriguing stranger. His clothes or hair colour fell prey to the Confundus Charm, but he saw his posture – relaxed, his fingers tracing the picture before him. The way the fingertips glided on the paper, the rapture with which the stranger studied each page, made Draco's cock twitch. He almost smiled at the feeling, it was rare these days. It made him feel good. Suddenly he wanted to talk, to interact with someone, who wouldn't know he was Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. The mask was giving him this chance. It briefly crossed his mind that he could be considering shagging one of his co-workers in the Potions Department and that had negative effect on his arousal. He quickly shook the idea away. If that was the case, he was grateful for the anonymity. After all, for all he knew, here could be sitting some stunning sexy man. Now, that was a thought worth keeping.

"You should check page 372, it's a personal favourite of mine." He was surprised by his own voice, so lively, suggesting, nothing like the dead emotionless one that he used normally.

Obviously his appearance hadn't been detected because the stranger jumped and slammed the book closed. Draco even saw his face go pink, but the man recovered quickly. He opened the book again, deliberately slow, as if to point out he was not ashamed and flipped to the page Draco had suggested.

"Oh, I've tried that. But I am not flexible enough for it." His voice was level with a touch of genuine interest and regret.

"You can't do it without a Charm. Well, at least most people can't. Still, the coordination takes time to learn."

Their eyes met across the room. Draco could see his features but somehow they eluded him. He assumed it was the Mask's magic and he gave up fighting it. "It feels great, I can assure you."

The stranger's head tilted slightly to the left and he smiled. Looking between Draco's face and the book he unconsciously caressed the smooth paper. The gesture made Draco imagine what those fingers would feel on his cock.

"You've tried it?" The man's interest was piqued now. He leaned over the desk towards Draco.

Draco nodded, moving a step closer. "I've been on the receiving end of it. Yes." Indeed he'd been, once, long ago in what felt like another life. It had been then that he'd learned the Charm involved.

"I am not really into bottoming, but if I find someone willing to teach me the charm, I might attempt again what I couldn't do in the past..." There was a note of invitation in the man's voice: an outstretched hand that let Draco decide whether he wanted to accept the dance or politely refuse.

He made his decision then and cast a charm to ward the door. Unlike many, he was not fond of anonymous sex: too many factors he couldn't control. But, this mysterious person here intrigued him, so maybe he'd be worth the trouble. Besides, it had been too long since he had been free to enjoy himself, since he had let himself forget all responsibility and just live.

Most often, Draco had to resort to Muggles because in the wizarding world his recognisable looks almost guarantied that he'd either get masochists, sadists, or those whose reputation would drag his even further through the mud. Why people expected the Malfoys to be into S M based solely on their name was beyond his comprehension. It further instilled in him the notion that people in general were either idiots, or complete idiots.

Draco leaned over the desk towards the man until his lips were almost ghosting over his face. Well, he gave him points for not pulling back but rather keeping determinately in his position. From this close he could smell the tangy fresh odour of soap and man; no perfume. Boldly he took a plunge. "Want to try it out with me? I'll show you the charm," he purred.

Without moving, his masked colleague answered, "I don't even know your name." His voice was soft, neither welcoming, nor refusing. His warm breath smelled of alcohol, but not unpleasant.

"I rather thought that was the general idea." Draco whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe.

"Quite the pushy bottom, aren't you?" A hand reached and cupped Draco's face, turning it for a playful bite on the chin that sent warm waves of delight across his skin. He closed his eyes in appreciation. "Still, I like to attach a name to my partners." He was released as his partner stood from behind the desk.

"Well, I'd say tonight I'm Cinder, like, well, you know," said Draco, gesturing his light grey attire and letting the dark humour of the situation affect him just a little bit.

"I don't understand?"

"It's a Muggle fairytale reference, about a girl with two awful sisters and a stepmother." He refused to think how closely he felt with main character in the story. This night was for pleasure; real life would take a backseat if only for an evening.

"Oh, yes. Not the right dress, though. If memory serves, she went to the ball in a nice evening gown," he teased with a smile.

Draco liked men who could follow his jokes.

"You should have said you were into cross-dressing." He flicked his wand, transfiguring his grey robes into a long gown and his skin prickled where the silk slid against it. The waves of excitement that the soft fabric induced went straight to his cock and it gave another appreciative twitch. "Is this better?"

The stranger burst into laughter. "I'm not into cross-dressing, though maybe it has its advantages." His eyes followed as Draco made a pirouette and finished it with a curtsy.

Draco cancelled the spell on his clothes. "So, will you give me your name for the evening?"

"Hmm, I guess I'll be Prince Charming, then."

Prince Charming approached him and traced a finger from his chin to the hollow above his robe collar. Draco felt a shiver start from there, spreading downwards in pleasant tingles all over. His cock stiffened even more, pressing against its confines.

The finger repeated its route and when it traced Draco's lips, which Draco playfully bit and then gave a long lick. He sucked at the tip and let it pop out with a wet sound before asking, "Isn't he from another fairytale?"

The Prince nipped at Draco's throat and then kissed the spot, soothing it with his tongue. He was both brazen and tender. "Does it matter?" His tone was lower now, and his breathing had become shorter. Each exhale cooled Draco's wet skin. The constant change of hot and cold made him heady with need.

Draco shook his head. He licked the jaw of his partner, following it to the ear, then brushed the shell's curve with his lips. The shiver that went through Prince Charming's the body was just the compliment he needed.

What soon followed were frantic hands and clothes falling to the floor. They explored each other. Draco discovered that his partner was ticklish just above his left hip and that he'd howl with pleasure if the small of his back was kissed and licked just like that.

An erection was pressing against Draco's twin hardness. It was hot and pulsing, and it felt bloody amazing. Each push and twist of the Prince's hips drove him wild and the Prince knew it. He seemed to enjoy bringing Draco to the brink of orgasm, only to pull him back.

Draco was about to start pleading, when he was pushed to sit up on the desk.

"I'll need a firmer surface for this one. Your back will bruise, even with a Cushioning Charm." The Prince was alternately biting and licking his nipples and caressing his balls, which were drawn so tight that they could explode any moment. The hands on him radiated fire that went straight to his cock, stirring him thrust against the hairy thigh of his partner in desperate need of friction.

"I expect you to make it worth the bruises," Draco barely managed to say between laboured breaths. His hands explored the chiselled plane of back beneath his palms as he pulled the man closer.

Prince Charming laughed and his face glowed with excitement.

The fingers at Draco's sac were now migrating further back, massaging his perineum and lightly tracing his pucker, drawing pants and curses from his lips. He wanted more, now! They circled and pressed and he pushed against them despite their dryness. His heart pounded; he could hear the rasping breaths coming from his throat. He was happy he wasn't the only one who was nearing his breaking point.

A charm later, the fingers returned, wet and slick and one slinked inside him, stroking his prostate. The Prince, he was ecstatic to note, had very dextrous fingers. Draco's body was on fire. He couldn't control the quivering of his thighs or the small whines that accompanied his every breath.

He was a shaking mass of need and he feared he'd come before they even began. While two fingers stretched him, Draco desperately fought his approaching orgasm; he didn't want to erupt like an inexperienced teenager. He was torn between relief and annoyance when Prince Charming pulled his fingers out and caressed his hips, waiting for Draco to gain a little bit of control.

A small kiss on his lips – their first – helped bring him back from the brink and he relaxed into it. It was weird, soft, almost tender, in contrast to the urgent desire that made them both grind against each other. The taste of alcohol was barely there, making it more intriguing. Their lips moved in synchrony, tongues met and explored crevices and textures. Then it transformed. The Prince bit aggressively and Draco practically growled with pleasasure. Draco's hands pulled his partner's head closer. He wanted to drown in that mouth. His fingers curled in the short hair at the nape of his neck and held on.

Then the fingers were back, three this time, jolting Draco's attention from the kiss. They twisted and rubbed his insides, slightly pressing against his prostate, driving him towards the edge once more. His back arched involuntary and he extended his neck under the intense pleasure. He threw his arms back to help him keep balance.

The fingers left him again and Draco couldn't help his sob of loss. A small kiss on his inner thigh and a pull to help him slide closer to the end of the desk. A tongue flicked briefly over his glans laving it and lapping at the leaking pre-come. Draco almost jumped at the exquisite delight that induced and his nails scraped the lacquered surface of the desk.

"Cast the charm now," Prince Charming whispered. His lips kept touching Draco's cock as they moved and the teasing butterfly caresses made Draco dizzy with anticipation. It took some effort to remember what he was supposed to do, but he somehow managed.

In the next moment he was held tight at the hips and penetrated in one smooth thrust, until he felt heavy balls slapping against his arse. Before he could process the slight burn and the glorious stretching, before he could even react to the divine feeling of a thick, hard cock in him there was a mouth engulfing his cock and he was trembling and vibrating like a tightly stretched string. His arms gave in, but he barely felt the hard desk as his back hit it. He buried his trembling hands in the Prince's hair and held on to the messy locks, needing something to ground him. His eyes fell shut and he let himself enjoy the pleasure that coursed through his body. He felt gloriously, brilliantly alive.

Then Prince Charming moved; a slow draw back and an even slower slide in, allowing Draco to feel every inch of him. He couldn't coordinate at first and it only made Draco feel like he was being pulled into a thousand different sensations all at once. He didn't know whether to thrust into the hot, wet mouth or to push back against the slow thrusts that made him want to squeeze the Prince's cock and force it to go harder, faster. Prince Charming soon managed to find a rhythm, but the angle was still odd and wouldn't allow for deep thrusts against his prostate.

Suddenly it felt like the Prince was touching him everywhere. The mouth left his cock with a parting lick. Then the thrusts started to grow in power and force, pushing Draco on the desk, just as firm hands pulled him back for the next thrust. The direction shifted until a thrust made Draco howl as his prostate was hit directly. Draco's whole self was concentrated in his cock, his balls were drawing closer and closer to his body and he could feel his toes curling at what promised to be an incredible orgasm. His hands fisted the Prince's hair tighter and his heels dug into the hard arse that contracted with each fierce thrust. Drops of sweat fell on his skin and his cock bounced with each thrust. Draco reached and fisted it, pulling, trying to reach an orgasm before he died of need. He was flying. He felt his throat scratch under the cry that came with his explosive climax. He barely registered when Prince Charming reached his own.

Draco lay on the desk, his legs hanging uncomfortably over the edge and his partner's weight heavy on him. Though he had no strength left to move, he thoroughly enjoyed the blissful lethargy that came after such good sex.

Magnificent sex, in fact, and he hoped for a second round even if his body seemed wrung out.

Just then, the clock began to chime, loud and final.

It was midnight. On the twelfth chime, the Charm would wear off and the Masks would fall. No more secrets.

On the second chime Draco wondered how the Prince would react to him. Whether he'd want to run or move to a better place for another glorious romp. The sceptic in him was more inclined to expect the former, but the lingering satisfaction made him hope for the latter.

On the third chime Prince Charming shook his head and then he jumped and started to put his clothes on. Draco blinked in confusion, twisting his body round to watch what was going on. The pleasant feeling of the afterglow was replaced with cold realisation and growing anger, which soon blossomed into resignation.

Fourth… The Prince pulled his trousers on, forgetting his underwear.

Fifth… His fingers were racing so fast, he only buttoned them at the top of the trousers.

Sixth… Seventh… He jumped into his shoes, his robe barely over his shoulders.

As the eighth chime sounded Prince Charming was running towards the door, cancelling the wards. He flunged it open and spared a moment to glance back at Draco. Then, not minding his feet, took a step to leave.

The ninth… The Prince stumbled and the robe fell, floating to his feet, crumbling around the ankles. As he spun, his open fly winked obscenely at Draco, reminding him that they had been intimate just minutes before.

The tenth… He tried to gain his footing, but ended up tangling in the heavy robe. He almost stumbled down, but managed to remain upright. Draco, meanwhile, thought the situation absurd. Here he was with sticky seed drying on his stomach and dripping from his bum and his lover was running away from him as if he was the Dark Lord reborn. It would have been funny, if it wasn't happening to him. As it was, however, it made him feel like a cheap whore.

As if timed had slowed, he watched as the Prince struggling comically with his robe and finally emerging victorious, the cloth lying stomped on the floor. But in what seemed final revenge the Prince's shoe got caught in the fabric, slipped and fell with a dull thud. He couldn't stop the burst of hysterical laughter that bubbled from his chest.

The Prince stared at him, his face puzzled and a bit apologetic. He opened his mouth, but promptly closed it again. Instead, he waved his wand and all his possessions vanished from the room. Just like that, he'd run away, leaving Draco alone, the draft from the door cooling his sweaty skin unpleasantly and accusing shivers from both the cold and the hard blow of reality.

The twelfth chime cancelled the charm and Draco felt his mask materialising again and slipping down. This time, his laughter held no mirth.

"You look horrible."

Draco raised his head and met the soft compassionate brown eyes of Neville Longbottom.

"Thanks, Neville. Good day to you too."

The boy he had once been would've had a fit before willingly interacting with Neville Longbottom. Three years of meeting him in the sterile whiteness of St. Mungo's Janus Thickey Ward, however, had made Draco realise that there were worse things than being on first name basis with a Gryffindor he had once considered a Squib.

He nodded to Neville, before closing the curtain that separated the Longbottoms from the person he was visiting today.

"Hallo, Mother!"

Narcissa Malfoy lay in her bed, pale and immobile, a trail of saliva dribbling down her chin. Draco wiped it carefully, then took his usual place on the bed and reached for his mother's hand. He refused to dwell on how limp and frail it felt in his.

He cast a Cosmetic Charm and smiled, knowing that if she could comprehend what was going on, she would have appreciated it. Narcissa would have been horrified by the sickly pallor of her skin, the Spartan interior of the ward, and by the sad remains of their once powerful family. Sometimes Draco was almost glad that she hadn't witnessed the fall of the Malfoys.

The terrible hex had taken her mind a few short days before Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to the Kiss, all his assets confiscated. She hadn't seen Draco's struggle to get an Apprenticeship, nor his work for the Ministry, which barely earned enough money for him to live. Whatever he had left after the war trials went towards hospital expenses. Now Draco had to labour additionally preparing potions for Apothecaries that worked with him only because he offered premium quality at low prices.

He tried to leave the horrible reality behind. He preferred to believe that his mother was still in there somewhere and when he was with her, he told her only things he knew she'd not be ashamed or sad to hear.

The bout of flu that had been plaguing him lately was getting worse, but Draco just couldn't afford to miss work. Even if he wasn't fired, his superiors would find a way to reduce his pay. Draco needed it to cover his mother's hospital stay. He fought the insistent feeling of nausea and tried to breathe shallowly through his mouth in order to avoid the revolting stench of burned potion. The last two weeks had been a constant battle with his highly sensitive stomach and the occasional dizzy spell. He hated the weakness of his body and told himself that he could do it, that the next day he'd wake up fine and strong.

He lost that battle three minutes later and charged towards the loo. He was glad that this late in the evenings, he was the only one left in the lab. He used these hours for personal brewing, usually. Luckily no one cared what he did, as long as ingredients didn't turn up missing.

After rinsing his mouth and freshening his breath, Draco went back to the lab on shaky legs. His desire to work was quickly overcome by a new wave of discomfort in his stomach. That alone told him it would be smarter to leave now than to suffer another ten minutes with his knees on the cold floor and his head bent over the toilet. As much as he needed the money, he would only end up with another ruined potion and lose more ingredients.

He was glad that Neville had spoken with the personnel at St. Mungo's to let him visit his mum in the late hours of the evening, even if they frowned in confusion over why a war hero would bother with an ex-Death Eater. He decided that if he couldn't spend the night doing something productive, he could at least pop in to see his mother.

Her condition hadn't changed. The green sheets had once been her favourite and, even though they were rather worn now, the colour made her look less pale, which pleased him.

He spent an hour telling her about his day, making it sound glorious and triumphant rather than debilitating and tedious.

He was preparing to leave when he heard the muted squeaking sound of steps in the room. Neville would have promptly spoken to alert Draco to his arrival. It could be a nurse comeing to attend to another patient, but the noise grew stronger. The nurses never came in to care for Narcissa while he was there; seeing his mother moved like a human-doll disturbed him. Draco felt his heart-beat accelerating and his hand reached in his pocket to grab his wand. He took it out and kept it hidden by his body, but ready for action. A shadow appeared on the private curtain separating Narcissa from the rest of the patients. Feeling sweat making his grip unsteady, he tightened his hold on the wand. The curtain was drawn back and something red appeared.

It took Draco a few still thudding heartbeats to realise it was Potter in his rather crumpled scarlet Auror robes, with a bunch of cream roses. He discreetly let go of his wand and put his shaky hand in his pocket.

Draco had met Potter more than once since the war, both at the Ministry and here. They got on fine, mostly because they rarely talked. The few times they had met here at St. Mungo's they'd spent in silence that promptly forced one of them, usually Potter, to offer his excuses and leave.

"Malfoy, good evening." Potter shifted the roses from his right hand and offered it for a shake.

"Potter." Draco, his heart rate normal again, nodded in greeting and stood. His hand dry and steady extended as he took a few steps to reach Potter. A feet from him, the strong fragrance of the roses hit Draco's nostrils. He had a brief moment to register the strange noise in his ears and the almost comical look on Potter's face as his green eyes dilated impossibly, before the dizziness took over.

When Draco came to, Potter was sitting by his bed and a petite, nervous-looking nurse was gawking at the Saviour, as if expecting him to perform a miracle. He nearly snorted in ridicule but just then Potter noticed he was conscious.

"Malfoy, how are you feeling?" he asked bending towards Draco. His hair fell over his eyes, forcing him to brush it away. Draco found the gesture oddly attractive and immediately after wondered if he'd hit his head upon impact.

"I'm fine," he insisted and tried to sit up, only to be pushed back by a firm hand.

"You are not going anywhere until a Healer sees you. You look like death warmed over."

"I am fine." Draco moved to sit again and this time he managed to. "All I need is some sleep. If you let me, I'll go home and get some."

"You are not fine, Malfoy. Just so you know, your Cosmetic Charm failed."

The nurse stood by his bed, slightly swaying on her feet, following the conversation with eager interest. Draco would bet what little money he had that he would read some twisted version of tonight's events in one of the next issues of theDaily Prophet, but there was little he could do about it. If the last years had taught him something, it was that fighting lost battles led to nothing but wasted efforts, and he just couldn't summon the strength to bother.

Potter ploughed on. "Your face looks horrible. Your eyes look as if you've taken a few hits. You obviously need…"

Draco didn't get to hear what he obviously needed because a cheerful voice interrupted them.

"Mr. Potter, you needed a Healer? I'm Senior Healer Feltersnatch, glad to be of assistance. What ails you?" A plump middle-aged man barely taller than the nurse smiled widely at the hero.

"It's for Mr. Malfoy here," Potter nodded at him, moving to let the Healer examine him. The effect was immediate; Draco saw the shift on the Healer's face when he realised who required his help. He knew that if the great Saviour had not been present. he'd have been sent home without so much as a second glance.

Still, under the watchful eye of the Hero himself, there was no way Healer Feltersnatch would abandon him. He made a few perfunctory tests and opened his mouth, probably to announce Draco was fine, when Potter bent closer.

"What's wrong with him, Healer Feltersnatch?"

The weird thing was he could see Potter genuinely cared, and he couldn't remember the last time someone had. He studied his former adversary closely; maybe for the first time he noticed that Potter's eyes weren't as green as people described them. There were small grey and brown dots here and there, enough to make them interesting. He wondered how, in the many years that he had spent obsessing over Potter, he hadn't noticed that detail. Potter blinked in confusion, obviously wondering why he was staring at him, and that shattered the moment.

The Healer, oblivious to the sudden comprehension making its mark on Draco, stuttered that he needed to perform a few more tests and waved his wand anew.

Draco saw the exact moment the Healer found out what was going on with him. He saw the face of the man lengthen and the discreet glance he cast between him and Potter. Yet, even those signs didn't prepare him for the next revelation.

"Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy. You are expecting."

Draco froze. He felt like the whole situation was a stage drama and he was a spectator somehow drawn on the stage. He understood what was going on, but there was no way to relate to the situation. It was as if he was not part of it. His mind tried to turn this way and that in order to process the information, but it just didn't make sense.

Spontaneous wizarding pregnancies were extremely rare. Yet, somehow, he had been gifted with one. And as any pureblood knew, a spontaneous wizarding pregnancy was a gift. His mother would have been ecstatic. She would have been proud that her son was that special. She would have doted on the child just like she had once on him. A distracted look around the room brought him back to earth and reality reared its ugly head. His mother was in another room in this hospital and would probably know he was pregnant.

The first thought that came to his mind was that he couldn't afford the medical costs that came with a pregnancy, let alone a child. The second, that he had no idea who the father was. His last sexual encounter had been at the Spring Gala, and he couldn't even begin to guess the identity of his partner at the time.

"What is he expecting? Is it something serious?"

He'd forgotten about Potter. Now, the innocent and slightly concerned voice irritated him; the ignorance of that git!

"Pregnant, Potter!" he spat. "He said I was pregnant!" He startled at the sound of his own voice, high-pitched and hysterical. Draco swallowed and briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm down. It was not easy, when Potter kept sprouting utter rubbish.

"B-But you're a man!" Potter's face betrayed dismay and distrust. He stared at the Healer in bemusement and his eyes widened when Feltersnatch nodded, confirming Draco's words.

"I am a wizard, Potter. And you are too. Try to remember that!" His voice sounded better, but there was still a weird pitch to it. He shut up and stood, the slight dizziness tipping his world off centre and forcing him to grasp the bed until it passed. Potter reached a hand to help and Draco pulled away, the sudden movement causing the dizziness to return. He needed to be alone, needed to think about his future.

It was cowardly, but he didn't care. He ran blindly for the exit. Only when the cool breeze outside made him shiver with cold, he realised he'd left his cloak behind. He had no money for a new one, but he couldn't bring himself to go back. At least he still had his wand; he clenched it in his trembling fingers and spun on the spot, Apparating home.

He didn't slept that night. His mind was too engrossed with this strange, new situation. His health insurance didn't cover pregnancy. He barely had enough money to support himself and pay for his mother's bills, let alone a child. It would be very expensive and leave him less time for his second job as brewer on demand. Hell, it would force him away from his primary job too, for at least a few months.

But then again, his pregnancy had been a spontaneous one. A gift from Magic itself. They were rare and it was believed they brought happiness and prosperity. The old tales said terminating one could kill one's magic, or at least curse their blood-line. Draco didn't really believe in fairy tales, but he remembered that a tale had proven true and brought about the fall of Voldemort.

Besides, his mother had believed. She'd have wanted him to have this baby as she'd always loved children. Draco knew she had wanted a lot of grandchildren to spoil.

His hands gently touched his flat stomach. He didn't feel pregnant. He wondered if there was a way one was supposed to feel while pregnant. Shouldn't hormones make him different? A child was in there; his hands spread over his abdomen, exploring it, looking for telling signs of his pregnancy. It felt just as any other time; but it was not. He wanted this child, if only for his mother's sake. But a small voice in his head whispered that a child loved unconditionally. It would embrace him and kiss him and it was his. And Draco craved to experience that feeling again. His hands clenched into fists as he made his final decision.

Draco tried to stay as far away from the cauldron as possible, but his resolve failed. At least he remembered to reinforce his ventilation charms frequently. For once he was glad that his lab was farther in the back, away from everyone else's; less residual fumes reached him there.

He heard some commotion stirring from the other rooms and briefly wondered what was going on. He didn't bother checking; he knew that if he wanted to avoid problems, it was best to be unseen and unheard. It was a hard lesson he'd learned in the beginning: he'd tried and failed to force his presence on his colleagues to spite them, but soon realised that it only led to more trouble than it was worth. Now, he was smart enough to know when to give up.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Whoever it was didn't wait for an invitation and opened it straight away.

It was Potter. Who else?, his sarcastic side chipped in.

"Hey!" Potter waved and slammed the door in the eager faces of his nosy colleagues on the other side. "How are you doing today? Better?"

"Hello, Potter. I'm fine." Draco couldn't remember Potter ever coming to his lab. The git had come to the department a few times, but he rarely dealt with Draco. "Do you need something?" Draco knew how aggressive he sounded, but after yesterday's events, he was not ready to face Potter so soon.

"Uh, I brought your cloak back." Potter dug in his pocket and procured a small shapeless package that he magicked to its normal size. It was horribly crumpled and there was a stain on it. "Er, sorry. I'll…, umm…, I'll get it cleaned and then bring it back, OK?" He proceeded to wring it nervously between his fingers, rumpling it even worse.

Snarling, Draco snapped, "Oh, just give it to me." and snatched it before Potter could do any more damage. He quickly began casting charms to get rid of the creases and blemishes effectively. He'd had to learn a lot of those charms, especially when working in such unstable conditions. In Potter's presence, he was suddenly unpleasantly reminded of the times he had ridiculed the Weasleys' poverty. He never would have imagined he'd be in the same situation years later; he almost expected Potter to point that out, but the Auror was strangely silent.

Potter's hands fell by his sides and he looked a bit perturbed. "I…, well, I wanted to congratulate you. I forgot to, yesterday." He smiled brightly and extended his hand in an official manner. Draco reflexively took it. "Congratulations, Malfoy. And congrats to your partner, I guess."

He struggled to keep his composure; averting his gaze would only make Potter more suspicious, and a suspicious Potter meant a longer visit. Heaven knows the nosy git would only be too happy to stick around longer to pester him.

"Thanks."

The apoplectic sound of boiling saved him from having to continue. He moved away to oversee his potion, pretending he was more occupied than he actually was. Potter, for all the handful of intelligence he possessed, took the hint.

"I'll be going then. Congrats again!" And then he left. Draco stared at his ruined potion and wondered why Potter had even bothered. But then again, Potter bothered with a lot of things. He was just that kind of man.

"How are you doing?"

He glanced up in surprise when Potter took the seat opposite from him, settling his Levitating tray down. He was used to eating alone; no one wanted to be seen sharing pudding with a former Death Eater. Of course, Potter was the exception. Draco bitterly chewed his bite and swallowed before answering.

"All right."

"You're too thin," commented Potter. He stirred his food but had yet to taste it. "Are you eating enough?"

Four and a half months along, Draco weighed less than before his pregnancy. He hadn't gone to a Healer, because he had no money to spare. Instead he'd read a few books he'd found at the library. The reason for his slenderness was due in part to morning sickness. And afternoon sickness, and evening, too. He had tried the prescribed potions but he had yet to find one that would help him. He just hoped his condition would improve, or soon he would be too weak to work and then no potion would save him.

But that was no concern of Potter's. "I'm eating fine, Potter," he growled. He was getting fed up with Potter's nosiness. He didn't invade the man's life: was it too much to expect the same? Did Potter enjoy humiliating him?

"Are you getting married?"

Draco chose the wrong moment to swallow his food and instead, choked on his mouthful. Potter's face was a picture of panic as he sprang up and around the table to helpfully slap his back until his fit passed. When he could breathe normally again, he rounded on him with a scowl.

"I think that's none of your business!" Draco felt like hitting him and shouting that he didn't need anyone prying into his private life. But on the inside, it felt good to know that at least one person cared. Even if that someone was Potter. But he couldn't allow himself to be dependant on anyone, even Potter.

He concentrated on his food and started to count how any times he chewed each mouthful, in order to ignore his tablemate. He felt victorious when Potter gave up his attempt to restart the conversation and left the table.

He knew it was Potter when small gifts started appearing in his lab, or sometimes on the night table beside his mother's bed. They were small things, unimportant and cheap, but they brightened Draco's drudgery. He realised with surprise that he looked forward to going to work, curious what he'd get that day. An occasional Chocolate Frog, some Cauldron Cakes and other sweets somehow found their way to his worktable bringing a smile on his face. He wondered if Potter realised how dangerous it was to put food in areas used for brewing, but considering how bad Potter had been at Potions in school, it probably slipped his mind. Still, he would open the treat and eat it, while wondering what their purpose was. If the gifts had come from anyone but Potter, Draco would have thought he was being courted, but keeping in mind the sender, he assumed Potter was just being his usual Savour self, but that didn't diminish his pleasure each time he found a new gift.

It was late. Everyone had gone from the labs and he sat alone, stirring a potion and deep in thought.

He'd been forced to visit a Healer. The books said he was supposed to feel the child moving by the end of the fifth month, but was alarmed when he hadn't. His weight was still far from average for a healthy person at this stage of pregnancy, even if the daily sickness had receded somewhat.

They'd insisted on admitting him, but he could not afford overnight stays; Gringotts had refused to give him credit. The child was underdeveloped. Not by much, but the Healer said he needed lots of rest and food. Only, there was no way Draco could have both. He wanted this child and had grown to love it fiercely. This was his chance to do something right for once, to start over. And now his child was in danger.

If he had known who the father was he'd have asked for some help. But even if he knew, he doubted the stranger would care, especially if he found out his Death Eater past. One of the reasons he hadn't tried to find out was fear: he was afraid if the other father knew about their child, he might want sole custody. And if that came about, Draco was fully aware he'd have little chance of stopping him.

But now he was torn between losing the child to their other father and losing it completely. There was only one choice: no choice.

The next evening, he waited till everyone but the night shift was gone from the Ministry before he dared approach the public announcement board. His feet dragged on the way there and he had to steer himself from turning around cowardly. The slightest sounds made him jump nervously and look around. At the board it took him forever to post his message with trembling fingers. Then he had to clench them in fists to prevent them from reaching and ripping the parchment away. No matter what happened he had to save his child. With that thought in mind he ran away before he could change his mind.

Once at home, he curled under the covers and spent hours awake, caressing the small bump where his child was.

He promised himself he'd wait three days, and was quite proud he didn't check if there was a reply to his query. The days seemed to pass slower than usual and more than once he strayed from his path and walked past the public announcement board. The parchment he'd pinned remained there and he couldn't resist rereading it,

From Cinder to Prince Charming: The password for the message is the name of the book you were reading.

He never checked if the Prince had left an answer, fearing the truth. His work suffered since he couldn't concentrate, and the hours seemed to drag as his mind perpetually buzzed with possibilities. He imagined thousands of scenarios: that in three days there'd be no answer; or that the Prince wrote he couldn't care less; or that the Prince cared, but once he saw Draco he immediately decides to have nothing to do with him. Mostly his mind conjured pessimistic outcomes and he tried to discard them hastily.

On the second day, he arrived to find a bunch of Liquorice Wands waiting for him on his lab station. He suddenly entertained the thought of Potter possibly being Prince Charming. It would solve all of his problems. Potter was the ultimate Gryffindor and wouldn't take Draco's baby. Potter had enough money and influence to make his life easier like his childhood had been. Besides, Potter was attractive.

That made him pause. Since when did he notice such things about Potter? He tried to remember when his views of Potter changed. Was it when he discovered the Saviour cared about his mother enough to testify on her behalf and spare her a sentence in Azkaban? Was it when the man sincerely extended his condolences over Narcissa's condition? Or when he found out Potter was among the few who didn't try to make his life harder than it was? Was it the time he woke up in the hospital and noticed the normalising flecks in those famous green eyes? Or the treats that he sent? The way he talked to him as if he was just like everyone else, human, like the Mark on his arm was nothing but an ugly tattoo?

He really couldn't say. But the truth was he could see Potter's eyes when he closed his own. He knew his habit of adjusting and flattening his fringe so it covered his distinctive scar, even now when it was almost invisible.

And suddenly it was as if Potter was everywhere around him. Wherever Draco turned, there was Potter; passing, or talking to someone, or his picture plastered in the morning paper. It felt as if he was being pulled in by Potter's gravity, like he wanted to go to him and touch him. He wanted to know what that mop of unruly hair felt. Was it soft and silky, or was it coarse and springy. He wanted to smell Potter's scent and memorise it. Sometimes he felt like taking Potter and keep him for himself. And that made him afraid. He'd never felt so intensely about someone, and now having those feelings for Potter was both frightening and exciting.

The day he feared and waited for finally dawned. He had promised himself to see if Prince Charming had answered, so he overcame his sudden reluctance and desire to wait for another day. He approached the board, eyes flitting around, checking if there was someone looking, afraid that maybe the Prince wanted to find out his identity by staking out the board. He considered doing this early in the morning when there was a crowd around the wall, but he couldn't risk someone reading his message or the reply to it by chance.

The corridor was empty; the few plants here and couldn't hide anyone well, but he checked them just in case. The moment he'd been waiting days for finally upon him, Draco took a deep breath, lifted his wand and touched the parchment. He was terrified of what might be there, or not be. Reflexively, he settled a hand on his abdomen, seeking the tiny life there. Just then, he felt a flutter, almost like tingling from the inside. An enormous wave of happiness overcame him: his child was moving for the first time! It was as if they were silently offering him support. He smiled and his hand caressed the bump, returning the greeting.

Suddenly stronger and more confident Draco lifted his wand again and this time didn't hesitate before whispering the password. His message slowly appeared in loopy letters:

I am pregnant and I need help. Please answer here under the same password.

And below his words there were new ones.

Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron on Thursday, 8 p.m., room 14.

Today was Thursday. Obviously, Prince Charming had assumed he'd see the message earlier. Draco cast a Tempus Charm – 9:32 p.m. He cursed: was horribly late and he was not at all ready. Another flutter tingled in his womb. He caressed his child and silently promised he only needed another day. One more before he gave up his hope that maybe he'd be lucky and things would work out. Besides, it was too late now. The Prince would be gone already. So maybe a new message would be a better idea. Only, he couldn't afford to spend money on a room.

He hastily wrote that he'd be at the Leaky Cauldron, at the table in the furthest corner from the bar both on Friday and Saturday at 11 in the evening.

He knew the establishment was packed on these evenings, but he hoped the late hour would mean that most visitors would be too inebriated to pay them any attention. He also considered postponing their meeting until Monday or Tuesday, but he knew he'd already lost too much time. And there was no guarantee that the Prince would help him, even if he'd offered a meeting.

He charmed his handwriting to be unrecognisable and then locked the message with the password. After one last glance at the announcement board, he left.

Draco's Friday started horribly. He had a very nasty bout of morning sickness that left him weak and shaky. Not to mention it caused him to be late for work. His superior then wasted another ten minutes berating him, ending with the declaration that he'd be fined for his tardiness. It was not even mid-morning when a potion a colleague was experimenting on exploded, filling all the labs, including his, with nasty fumes that forced Draco to run for the safety of the loo.

His stomach was twisting and he could feel bitter bile building in his throat. He ran blindly through the corridors and in his haste, collided with someone. The impact ruined his concentration and he felt his stomach give a final warning just as he bent double and threw up what little he'd eaten on whoever it was.

"Malfoy, are you OK?"

Of course, it'd be Potter. After all, Potter had managed to witness most of his humiliations through time, why not this one, too? A brief charm to clean them both and a charm to freshen his breath tingled over him. He grabbed the offered hand that helped him up and found himself immersed in those flecked green eyes, examining him in concern.

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I am fine."

"Fine, my arse." Potter's hand left him briefly and Draco swayed, still vertiginous from the bout. The hand hastily returned. "You are too light for someone who's pregnant."

"And you know this how? Maybe you've been secretly pregnant before?" snapped Draco.

"No, but I'm constantly around pregnant women. I kind of know it all already, it feels." Potter pulled him along the corridors into an area Draco never visited, unless he couldn't avoid it – the Auror Department.

He was dragged into Potter's office and pushed to sit on a small sofa.

"Do you need anything? Tea? Snacks?"

The mere thought of food made Draco's stomach rebel. He shook his head, breathing deeply. "I'm fine. I just need some time."

Potter sat next to him and reached to massage his lower back. Draco started and pulled away, even though he actually wanted those hands on him. "What are you doing?"

"Oh," Potter blinked and slid his hands in his pockets. Draco could see the robe flutter where Potter's fingers twitched nervously. "Umm, the girls always said this made them feel better."

He really hadn't expected this. Potter wanted him to feel better, to take care of him. He studied Potter's face carefully: it was eager to help, so concerned, his lower lip pulled into his mouth as teeth unconsciously worried it.

Draco's glance couldn't leave that lip. He followed each tiny moment it made as the teeth on the other side chewed on the soft-looking flesh. Saliva gathered in his mouth and he swallowed thickly. His tongue traced the inside of his mouth and he was surprised by the urgent desire to kiss Potter. He wondered what it would feel to suck on that abused lip and lick it, soothe it. His eyes couldn't tear from it. He blinked in confusion and realised he was leaning towards Potter, their lips only an inch apart. His mind backtracked hastily. He drew back and jumped up.

"I need to get back to work." He felt nervous and jittery. It must be his unstable hormones, he tried to convince himself, nothing else.

But still he couldn't tear his gaze from Potter's mouth and he knew he moment that tempting lip was let alone.

He tried to shift his attention and he thought he saw a brief disappointment mar Potter's face, but he wasn't sure. Maybe he was imagining things.

Potter stood and approached him, concern creasing his brow.

"Will you be all right?" he asked, reaching towards Draco as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His touch was supportive, as if he feared Draco would fall flat on his face without help. Weirdly enough, Draco thought it was Potter's closeness that made him dizzier than his condition. He was still contemplating that possibility as he strode along the corridors of the Ministry.

The hours flew by as if the clock was in a hurry to reach the evening. His colleagues trickled out of the lab one by one, leaving him to clean their messes as usual. Draco argued with himself, weighing if it would be better if he didn't go today. Part of him hoped the Prince wouldn't see the messages in time to appear at the pub. But he knew he couldn't be irresponsible. The constant discomfort in his midsection hadn't settled after his fateful encounter with Potter and reminded him that had an important reason not to be selfish.

Being alone left him too much time to think, but he didn't want to return to his home, afraid he wouldn't go to the Leaky. He tried brewing to get his mind off of what was to come, but after he botched a relatively easy potion, he gave up. He couldn't concentrate at all. Even reading an article in the latest issue of Potions Quarterly wasn't holding. His eyes wound up on the clock every few lines and as if to spite him or to compensate for their earlier haste, the hands of the clock barely moved. Frustrated, he stood up and began pacing, but it caused his stomach to roil. In the end he sat in a chair and started to hum lullabies his mother had once sang to him, as his hands tenderly explored the curve of his belly.

He must have fallen asleep, because he awoke to discomfort in his back. Yawning widely, Draco stood and stretched, his hands rubbing his hands across his lower back to ease the dull pain. It reminded him of his meeting with Potter in the morning and the unexpected urge to kiss him. He was almost sorry he'd missed the opportunity to discover what that teasing lip tasted like. He might never have another chance.

A look at the clock alerted him that it was time to leave. With a steeling breath, Draco grabbed his long cloak and draped it over his arm. It was now or never. If he had a preference, he knew which one he'd choose, and it certainly was not now.

Draco Flooed to a small shop in one of the streets close to Diagon Alley, donned his cloak on and pulled the hood over his trademark hair. A brief Glamour Charm took care of his features. He didn't need problems if someone recognised him and started harassing him.

The short walk to the Leaky Cauldron took longer than usual as he dragged his feet, afraid of what tonight would bring. His hands were shoved deeply in his pockets where he was able to caress his belly. It was amazing how much strength he drew from the baby, despite it being weaker than him at the moment.

He was almost at the door of the pub when he heard the chime announcing the eleventh hour. His hand stilled on the door-handle as the memory of the night his child was conceived sprang to the front of his mind. The humiliation and anger he had felt at being left so coldly still made him grind his teeth, but the gift he had received more than made up for that. The door of the pub flew open before him and the sound from within returned him to the present. A slightly tipsy wizard exited and almost collided with him. Only his quick jump to the side saved Draco's feet from getting stomped. The door started to wsing closed after the retreating patron and Draco extended a hand to stop it and made his way in.

The pub was packed and he had to navigate between the swarm of people who'd decided to stop over for a pint to celebrate the end of the work week. He was glad that the sizable crowd made his presence unnoticeable. The urge to run and hide grew stronger as he neared the table in the corner that he had reserved in advance. It was engulfed in darkness and unfortunately, he couldn't see if there was anyone already seated until he was almost at it.

And there was. Draco was torn between relief and disappointment. He had strong reasons to feel both. The scrutinizing stare was almost palpable on his skin and he subconsciously pulled the hood so that it nearly covered his face, Glamour not withstanding. His hands were sweating from his overwrought nerves and he tried to dry them in the folds of his cloak. He itched to get his wand, but as he was the one in need it would hardly make a good impression, it would only betray his state.

As he closed the distance between them, he braced himself. "Prince Charming?" His voice was hesitant and rather weak, his emotions unstable. Bloody hormones, making him like this.

"Yes." The voice was hollow and emotionless. It was nothing like the warm amusement he remembered, but five months was a long time. Then again, he hadn't paid much attention under the circumstances.

He took a deep calming breath and pulled a chair to sit across his shadowed companion.

"So, what do you want, Malfoy?"

The breath left him in a whoosh and he crashed heavily in the chair. His mind rang with horror: he'd been identified. His hands shook with alarm and he felt his stomach clench. The few deep breaths he took didn't stem the strong urge to be sick.

"How?" he asked, surprised that his voice sounded almost like his normal one. Still it would've been better if the slight trembling wasn't there.

"I…" Prince Charming fell silent. Moments later a waiter came for their orders. Draco wished he could have something strong, but he wouldn't endanger his precious child. He settled for pumpkin juice, yearning for the soothing relaxation he associated it with. He tried to see the Prince's face, but when his eyes adapted to the darkness, he saw it was also shadowed by a hood.

"I have some friends in the Auror department. Your magical signature was easily recognised."

Draco cringed. He knew there were many who would happily send him to Azkaban at the first opportunity. He sincerely hoped if the Prince wasn't among them.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" The voice was just as empty and detached, clearly magically altered. It sounded as if he was talking with a zombie or an Inferi and he shuddered unpleasantly.

He was glad when their drinks arrived with a on the table and took a sip, hoping it would settle his stomach a bit. Satisfied that his nerves abated somewhat, Draco tried to calm down enough to organise his thoughts.

He stared the shadow where the Prince's face should be and said tersely. "I'm pregnant. I need money." He held the glass of juice to have something to occupy his hands with.

"How do I know the child's mine?"

Draco felt anger swell his chest, but as if sensing his anguish the baby moved. He instantly calmed enough to concentrate. "If you are indeed Prince Charming, then I am willing to undergo a paternity test."

Prince Charming waved dismissively. "Yes, of course," The insinuation in the words was obvious. "And with a Healer of your choice, I bet." The last was said almost silently, but Draco still heard it. He wanted to leave, but he was unwilling to let the man have an advantage over him. He had to find out his identity. Still, in need or not, he wouldn't let Prince Charming, or really PrinceUncharming, deride him.

"I have no preference over the Healer," he said coldly.

"And why wait till now? I doubt you only found out a day or two ago." Prince Charming accused, leaning over the table menacingly.

"I thought I could deal with it on my own, but now the baby needs medical attention I can't afford." Draco hated to humiliate himself with an admission like that. That was one of the few things he had never gotten used to. Being poor, hated and constantly tired he'd grown accustomed to. But the way everyone expected him to grovel and disgrace himself before he was granted anything still made him itch to curse his torturers.

"And other than money? Do you expect me to marry you, too?" He was being sarcastic now, and Draco thought something in that tone was familiar. As if he had heard it before, but he couldn't pinpoint it exactly.

He blinked, bemused. "Why would I marry you?" And why would anyone come to such a weird conclusion? "We had a one-night stand. I got pregnant. I expect nothing form this besides money." Frowning, he took another sip of his juice.

"So it's for the money!" His voice was now triumphant as if Prince Uncharming had finally come to a startling conclusion.

"Since that is what I need to keep our child healthy, yes." Draco thought he knew what was going on. Whoever Prince Uncharming was, he was probably rich and well-known and suspected Draco was nothing but a gold digger. If he were to be honest, he would have taken advantage of such an option, if he'd considered it realistic, but spontaneous male wizarding pregnancies were too rare and pregnancy potions were closely regulated. Slipping one to someone was a crime and he honestly didn't need to add anything else to his less than stellar record.

"Of course! It's all for the child!"

As Prince Charming's voice become more hysterical by the word, it also grew more and more familiar. Although, Draco still couldn't place where he'd heard it before. What troubled him the most was the increasing feeling of nausea that seemed to take him over. He gave up on the juice and his hands moved to massage his abdomen. This was apparently the wrong move as his ever pleasant companion demanded,

"Put your hands where I can see them."

Draco ground his teeth, both to prevent a nasty remark and because the chance that he would throw up became even greater. "I feel sick."

"Yeah, right! Though I admit you are a good actor."

Well now, he'd had enough of this. He might have been desperate for help, but he drew the line at being a doormat. Draco opened his mouth to retort sharply when thick whiff of pipe fumes drifted from the neighbouring table. In that instant all his efforts were nil. His stomach contracted and he bent over the table, vomiting. It was with some dark satisfaction that he saw some of the vomit hit Prince Uncharming.

Hands immediately flew to support him and a concerned, very familiar voice spoke as if from a distance.

"Merlin, Malfoy…, are you all right?"

Distantly, he made the connection that had eluded him. He knew that voice now; there was no mistaking it. Potter… The dizziness made him feel almost seasick, but he fought it. He had to tell the bastard. He had to.

"I hope you enjoyed your little game, Potter."

He was not sure if the words made it out of his mouth before his consciousness left him.

Draco didn't appreciate the humour in opening his eyes to Potter sitting by his bed for a second time. He recognised the room as a generic St. Mungo's one, and his mind quickly reminded him that he couldn't afford it. Sighing away the dejected thoughts, he moved to sit and as if the situation was a repeat of the last such case, Potter's hand tried to stop him.

He knocked it aside and growled, "Leave me alone, Potter. You had your fun, now you can make your grand exit." Years of Malfoy dignity helped him collect himself, to put on a strong front. He might have been lacking in strength, money or influence, but he'd be cursed by the Founders before he let Potter humiliate him further. And to think he'd found the bastard attractive.

He resisted the urge to check that the gentle curve of his abdomen was the same. Since Potter seemed afraid to push any harder, Draco was soon sitting up and very unhappy.

Taking a hard look at Potter for the first time, he noticed his confusion. And maybe a bit of guilt tugging at the corners of his eyes. For once Draco couldn't care less. All he could think of was his child, and what was going on with them. These fainting episodes were a tad too frequent to be healthy; additionally, the all-day-long sickness had aggravated again. He wondered if a Healer had come to see him. Most likely, considering who had brought him in.

Potter opened his mouth, and then apparently thought better of it. Oh, miracles happened. Somehow he'd grown to know when to shut up.

Anxiously, Draco budged toward he end of the bed and put his shoes. It wasn't Potter's hesitant hand that stopped him from leaving immediately, but the desperate need of medical consultation at any price. Even that of Potter's presence. Right now and always, his was more important. This time he couldn't resist touching his abdomen and caressing the bump. He relaxed. The child, always ready to support him, chose that time to move. He smiled.

Potter sucked in a deep breath beside him. "Can I?" The question was accompanied by a hand inching towards Draco's belly. He instinctively pulled back and Potter's hand retreated hastily.

"What do you want? You were less than thrilled by the news of impending fatherhood and even less convinced of your involvement with my child. Why do you care now?"

"I know it's mine." He mumbled, while he fascinated himself with the white ceiling.

"Ah, so you had it tested and now you suddenly want to take my child away. Well, it sucks to be you; I'm not giving it up." He jumped from the bed this time and stalked toward the door; he'd get medical advice in some other less-irritating manner.

He hadn't expected resistance. Yet, there was Potter, in his way, pushing him back to bed. "The Healer said you needed lots of rest. And food, too."

When dizziness grabbed him, Draco knew his choices were limited. Either he hit the floor, or worse, fell in Potter's hands, or retreated to the bed. He chose the latter. Potter hovered over him annoyingly, pulling the cover and adjusting his pillow.

"No need to play the nursemaid, Potter. Don't you have a bunch of idiots to try your glass slipper on? Or maybe you prefer to have that glass slipper shoved up your arse? If so, I'd gladly help. Otherwise, get lost. If that's the kind of Charming Prince you are, I'd rather kiss the frog." Hissed Draco, throwing him his fiercest scowl. Words could not describe how much he despised Potter at the moment. And he loathed how Potter was once again chewing his lip, drawing his attention. He hated even more that after all of Potter's sadistic games, he found that habit oddly exciting. He was not, absolutely not, getting aroused in Potter's presence. He even hated traitorous cock right now.

"Your performance of a caring Gryffindor this morning was brilliant, Potter."

Draco turned around, facing away from him, though he could still hear. Distracting himself, he tried to think of how he'd fit the sizable hospital bill in his budget. No matter how he approached the situation, he knew he'd have to get really comfortable in his lab. It looked like he was going to be brewing a lot of potions in the future, well after his child left for Hogwarts.

Potter covered the hospital bills. The day Draco found out he had fit and tore all of the magazines and journals that Potter constantly supplied him with. Yes, he needed money and yes, he had asked for it, but he felt like a whore when Potter paid his bill like that. The git had been lucky he didn't come before Draco had calmed enough to able to think rationally.

Potter spent few hours with him each day of Draco's week-long stay in St. Mungo's at his bedside, going on and on, about how he had gotten the wrong idea. As if he didn't know that: Potter got the wrong idea pretty often. But he was also quite good at apologising and explaining how he really cared about the baby and Draco and how his concern for them on the fateful Friday had been genuine. Or maybe he'd just got tired of listening to Potter go on and on about the same thing day after day. He had somehow gotten a soft spot as far as Potter was concerned, not to mention he was bored out of his skull having nothing to do but read all day. He started to talk to Potter. That had been the easy part. The hard part had been getting rid of him after he was released from the hospital. Somehow the daft Auror assumed he was welcome to stalk him at any moment.

"He is absolutely intolerable, Mother."

He found himself spending a lot of time with his mother these days. He was on sick leave for the first time since he'd gotten the job:paidsick leave. Potter's hand had somehow arranged it, and as if that was not enough, Potter insisted he get weekly check-ups. And he was willing to do anything to get away from Potter. The annoying bastard was everywhere these days, knocking on his flat door, coming to his mother's hospital room. Draco feared he'd find him between the floorboards, too, if he checked there. He'd even sent him a small package with infant clothes in boring pink and blue. Draco had thrown them away… at the bottom of his least-used cupboard.

Narcissa never commented, but Draco didn't care. He held her hand and continued to spill his exasperation with Potter's endless string of attention. He liked to think his mother was happy about being a grandmother, maybe even more about being the grandmother of the Saviour's child.

Draco wasn't ignorant. He knew that having Potter's child would help him in life. The problem was that Potter's attention was all wrong. It was all about the baby and Draco craved more and more to be about him. As Prince Charming, Potter was a total failure, but as himself, he was oddly endearing. And arousing. And dream-inspiring. And absolutely annoying.

"I hate him!" He finally groused. He imagined that Narcissa hummed in agreement.

"Hi, Draco." Neville's head peeked from between the curtains. "Hi, Narcissa."

"Neville." Draco waved a hand to invite him in. "You rarely come on Wednesdays."

Neville shuffled his feet, his face blushing. "Harry asked me to check how you were doing… and to give you this." Neville pulled a box from his pocket and resized it. . With a crooked smile, he extended it to him.

Draco scoffed. "Tell Potter he can shove his gifts up his tight arse."

"Tight, huh?" Neville grinned. "You would know, I guess."

Draco's geniality snapped like a cheap wand. He couldn't escape Potter when he wasn't even here! "Out, Longbottom! Out, and I don't want to see you if you're going to talk abouthim."

Clearly amused, Neville replied, "Wow, back to surnames. Okay, I'm going. Bye, Narcissa." He lifted the curtain to leave but paused, turning back. "Don't forget your present, Malfoy."

Draco was eight months along, and the last two had been a prolonged torture because of Potter's constant presence around him. And the torture was all the more refined because of the constant awareness he had of Potter. With the pregnancy heightening his smelling sense he had quickly learned Potter's unique scent well enough to be able to point him by that alone. And now he was so attuned to that scent, he got aroused by it alone. It was humiliating. Even more humiliating was how Potter never noticed. All Potter wanted was the baby. When he touched him, it was to feel the baby's movement. When he was around, all he talked about was the baby, or asked how he felt about being pregnant. And whether he ate enough, slept enough, if his feet were swollen, did his back ache…

The only good he got out of it were Potter's fantastic massages. He'd press and rub his feet until he felt they melted like butter. He'd work on his back, until the muscles were warm, pliant and relaxed, long past the moment when another part of Draco was anything but soft or relaxed. That part stood to attention whenever Potter was around. It was good his enormous belly hid anything going on below. Potter couldn't see the straining erection that extended the front of his pants, as long as he was careful to keep his robes buttoned. This wasn't that easy with him being almost naked for the back-rubs. Potter, however, seemed unaffected. Draco was honestly considering slipping him an aphrodisiac just to get some sex. His hand was getting friction burns from the frequent self-satisfaction he resorted to afterwards.

This evening was blissfully, or sadly Potter-free; the bastard was supposed to be otherwise occupied tonight. Draco had an early dinner and now read from a stack of potion journals Potter had brought him in one of his fits of fussiness. But, as usual, when his thoughts often wandered, he couldn't concentrate. His mind had the bad habit of drifting towards the unwanted direction of Potter; and unwanted attention his cock enjoyed.

Sighing in frustration, Draco tossed the journal aside and once again slid his hand down around his swollen stomach. Wanking was particularly tricky, especially when he looked as if he'd swallowed the Giant Squid. The angle was odd, the strain on his arm was uncomfortable, and worst of all – climaxing wasn't nearly as satisfying by hand.

Still, he closed his eyes, eased into his chair, and pictured Potter naked. It took a lot of imagination, since the one time had seen him nude, he had no visual memory of to help him along. He focused on how it felt when Potter caressed him, the way Potter's cock had pulsed and twitched with every suck and lick when Draco had tasted it briefly.

The abrupt chime distracted him. Shit, that part he hated. It had been especially humiliating to see Potter running away from him so soon after sex. The chime sounded again and Draco realised it was the door bell. Great timing! Whoever it was deserved to be strangled. Slowly.

He summoned his robe and he concentrated on the wards as he slipped it on. It was Potter; what a shock. He waved his wand to let him in and tried to persuade his cock to deflate. It obstinately refused. No surprise there.

When Potter entered the room, he didn't rise to greet him. Both his belly and his erection made movement out of the question. Yet he couldn't help but notice Potter looked odd: his robe was unbuttoned and it hung down his arm, leaving his shoulder uncovered and the shirt underneath was crumpled. It took Draco short time to figure out his visitor was drunk.

He swayed when he walked and squinted as if he had trouble seeing through his glasses. When it appeared his vision cleared, he eagerly made a beeline for him and and dropped into the seat by him. His hands at once reached for Draco's abdomen and caressed it, unwittingly making the unseen erection pulse. Draco tried to push the hands away, but Potter's fucked up coordination led to him losing his balance even while sitting. He unevenly fell towards Draco and looking for balance, brushed the twitching cock that had long been craving his attention. And Potter obliviously didn't mind obliging. His hand clumsily grabbed Draco's cock and squeezed it. Even through clothes the sensation was brilliant.

Draco reasoned that if Potter was too drunk to remember this, he'd be fine. If not, he'd have the excuse of being much too pregnant to be able to battle him. Or something. He'd think about it later. For now, his agenda solely included enjoying the experience.

Potter's hand parted his robes and found its way into his pants. It was a bit cold, but felt great on his hot flesh. The resulting shivers allowed him to relax on the sofa and let Potter do whatever he pleased.

The hand on his cock encircled him and moved up and down slowly and thoroughly, from root to tip and back. It was great, the grip tight enough to squeeze, but not too much. He let his head fall back as pleasure gathered in his groin, slowly building. He bit his lips to stop his moans, afraid that they'd alert Poter. Then the fingers relaxed and retreated and he growled in protest. The mood shifted.

"What?"

"You don't seem to be objecting." Potter's voice sounded quite sober. Or maybe he was too aroused to tell the difference? "Do you want me?"

What was it with Potter? Draco's neglected cock demanded attention and he was Potter asking stupid questions. He wanted to grab the git's hand and force it back where it had been. Instead he was forced to talk. The haze form his arousal subsided and Draco considered the situation.

"You're not drunk." It was a statement, not a question. He could see the clarity in Potter's flecked green eyes.

"I'm not." The hand that had masturbated him now lay calmly in Potter's lap.

"So what was that show for?"

"You didn't react to my seduction." Potter sounded like a petulant child.

"You were seducing me?"

He feebly nodded. "I even tried to get your attention before I knew the child was mine. When I thought you were a single parent," said Potter as he was nervously chewing on his lip again.

This time Draco did not resist the temptation. He leaned a bit awkwardly over his enormous belly and licked the lip that had teased him so many times. Potter's gasp let it go and he sucked on it tenderly, his tongue feeling the texture. It was soft and tasty. Draco loved that lip. He licked it again and pulled away to say, "Not to burst your bubble here, Potter, but if that's your idea of seduction, I'm hardly surprised you are still single. Now, if you want to seduce me properly, get you hand back where it was!"

"Oh!"

"Next time Potter, ask me." Draco was sprawled sideways on the sofa, now blissfully extended to support Potter, him and the swallowed Giant Squid.

"Next time, I'll act." Amended Ptter. "That's it for me trying to seduce like a Slytherin, subtly and delicately."

"Subtlety is not your forte, trust me." Draco moved to lay his head on Potter's chest. He listened to the rhythmic sound of his heart and smiled at its change of pace, when his hand traced Potter's thigh. He rather liked that.

"I thought the drunk act was rather Slytherin, though," he commented as a hand played with his hair. It slid lower to trace the bumps of his vertebrae. He leaned into the caress, sated.

"Hmm, maybe a bit," he allowed at last. "Still, better stick to what you are good at. Like sex."

So, the Not-Quite-a-Maiden and the Not-Quite-a-Prince found their own ever after. And although it was not magically happy or complete with thrown rice and squat carriages riding into the sunset, they did get something out of it – lots of sex, lots of arguments, lots of make-up sex, and, of course, a child… or three.~ The End ~


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